


Vision of You

by qwerty



Series: Summerpornathon 2012 [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Community: kinkme_merlin, Community: summerpornathon, Imaginary Friends, M/M, the sexy sort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-08
Updated: 2012-08-08
Packaged: 2017-11-11 17:28:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwerty/pseuds/qwerty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is nothing Merlin can do to stop the dreams, except not want them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vision of You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Challenge Three: Non-Human Characters.

There's nowhere to hide in this room. It's too small, too cramped - just the narrow cot takes up almost all of one wall. The first time it happened again after he moved in here to avoid the dreams, Merlin took out boxes of his old books and some of his childhood mementos from the attic and stashed them in the narrow space below the cot. He keeps what few shadows remain filled by kicking his shed clothes underneath to get them out of the way until it's time to do the laundry. There's no room even for imagination here.

The thrift store cupboard is packed full with his clean clothes and new art supplies. His desk, if it can be called that, is barely more than a board with legs, same with the chair. There's a bright table lamp for his work, papers, pencils, brushes and paints. He takes all his completed pieces to his proper work studio, and checks that all the windows and doors in his house are locked. But it's not enough.

Merlin is always most alert right after he switches off the light and lies down. It never happens then. It's only when he's feeling warm and safe, eyelids heavy with sleep, that he becomes aware of the soft breathing at his back.

It's never a shock, even the first time. If he closes his eyes and ignores it, he can sleep the rest of the night undisturbed. But most nights, Merlin will turn his head, deceived by the lying dreams that tell him the sound is familiar and beloved, and Arthur will be there, taking too much space between him and the wall, warm and solid at his back. Merlin fits perfectly into the curve of Arthur's body like it has always been there, like they belong together.

If he says, "I'm dreaming," he wakes, and Arthur disappears. Far easier to sigh, lean into Arthur's comfortable strength, let Arthur fold him into his arms and breathe him in, press gentle kisses and tender words into his neck like Merlin is something precious and beautiful.

At least, it starts like that. Soon enough, Arthur's hands will begin to wander - innocent on his chest and flanks, then stroking slower over his belly, teasing the curling trail of hair that leads down between his legs and taking him firmly in hand while he gasps and reaches behind to clasp Arthur closer, press back and rock on the stiff erection pressing wetly between his buttocks.

Sometimes Arthur brings him off first and finishes himself between Merlin's clenched thighs. Sometimes he laughs quietly at Merlin's urgency and withdraws just enough to push his slicked fingers into Merlin, plays with him until he is open and dripping and struggling in Arthur's arms, so needy that he is ready to throw Arthur off and grab a dildo from his night table, then Arthur turns him over and shoves into him with a jolt that forces out a choked scream and makes him see stars.

Tonight, Arthur dispenses with the playful tormenting and simply opens him without fuss and ruts into him, hard and insistent, growling love and possession, as though he could get a child on Merlin like this, while Merlin pants, "Arthur," and "faster," as all the words he can think to form, and claws at Arthur's shoulders and back, ankles crossed over Arthur's waist to hold him, until they come with a shout and Arthur collapses on Merlin, pinning him.

In this warm lassitude between sleep and waking, he tells Arthur, "I am going insane," and Arthur kisses his temple and cheek and says, "you're not."

"But I am," he says, and knows it for truth, recognising the same small scar on Arthur's cheek that he'd added that morning to the half-completed sketch on his table. "You're not real. You're a character I made up for a book," he says, and tucks his face into Arthur's shoulder while Arthur strokes his hair.

"I can be real, if you remember," Arthur says then, as he does every night. Merlin holds on to the hopeful note in his gentle delusion's voice, closes his eyes and lets sleep take him to morning, when he will be sane and alone again.

**Author's Note:**

> Also secretly my KMM entry for this round of Pornathon. Written with [this prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/kinkme_merlin/5454.html?thread=2242638#t2242638) in mind:
> 
> Merlin is a comic book writer. He creates a popular story about a superhero called Pendragon/The Royal Pain/The Golden Knight/whatever you can come up with. One magical night, Arthur comes to life and proceeds to make Merlin's life extremely complicated.


End file.
